I had an epiphany the other day that I think you would groove to but I forgot what it was, so maybe if I babble a bit it will come back. I really should write these things down. In the meantime, this is Rogue. I don’t know shit about X-Men, I have a vagina, but I came upon her by either happenstance or providence, depending on whether or not you believe in fate or just dumb luck. Whatever the case, you know the way the universe surprises you sometimes and sends something your way as a spiritual sherpa? I KNOW, so Oprahesque, like she used to say on her show about how the signs of guidance present themselves, let me paraphrase in my “own” way: At first it comes as a “whisper” of a stomach growl, then a low-noted fart, an SBD perhaps, followed higher pitched one, maybe a bit wet sounding, and if you ignore those then suddenly you might have to change your underwear, AND this is the warning: if you keep going like that you’ll have to get a colostomy bag at some point. Pay attention to the cues. Oprah is talking about important life decisions where you need to bail before the shit storm, like finally dumping that dude who kicks your dog and sells your used panties on eBay so he can buy his other girlfriend breast implants. Yes, I know that’s more of a Dr. Phil challenge but whatevs.
I’m talking about my hair.
It’s gotten kind of long and there are silvers pouring in at the temples. You prolly call them grey but they’re not. They’re blindingly shiny, fyi, grey doesn’t glisten like Swarovski crystals in the winter sun, so fuck you. But still, I’m like, ugh, should I dye my hair or what? Is it such a crime to age? Then last week, a random dude so sweet (and omg so hot, I could just squeeze the cute out of him and bottle all the juice and sell THAT crack on eBay) showed me a picture of Rogue from the X-Men with her silver crown of mojo and I’m like, FIERCE! WHY WOULD I EVER COVER MY SUPERPOWERS?
Then I googled up Rogue because if I ever get in to Cosplay (lol, just jokes…I think) I’m going to need to know who she is. I felt so drawn to her, like we are soul sisters. She has auburn hair with silvers, I have auburn hair with silvers. And the boobs, obvi. Her Wikipedia page is more prolix than my brain can handle, I am used to reading rehashed Jezebel articles. But! In essence, She’s a mutant who considers her power a curse. What?! I’m a mutant fo’ sho! And my “power,” and I’m using that term loosely, which is my charming writing style is full of shit, too! The blogarrhea, a blessing and a burden at the same time. This thing gets me in a whole whack of trouble yet for the select few who love to read it, I can’t stop writing it, it’s out of my control, #longhairdontcare. Rogue’s power is too, but hers is poignant. She’s so sensitive that when she touches you with her skin, she will suck all the memory and force out of you. Unwittingly! So she has to cover herself up in that tight titty suit so she doesn’t fuck anything up with her boyfriend, Gambit (is he hot? I don’t know. If I had to hit a superhero, it would be The Silver Surfer. He is a Fantastic Four, do they hang with X-Men? Jesus, am I actually asking this question?) and disempower him, you know, like regular women do when they dress their husbands in Lululemon and take them to farmer’s markets. She could kill you if she touched you long enough with her skin, so I guess blowjobs are out of the question :(. That’s so sad, to have have such limited intimacy,don’t you think? And yet think of some people whose hands you’d be dying to shake with an ungloved vice grip. What a pleasure it is to meet you, Bieber!
So anyway, I’m going take a page from Rogue’s book and let my silver streak freak flag fly, that settles that dilemma. It is for my wisdom, my wit and my willingness to share my stories so you have something to read for 5 minutes, until something better comes on your newsfeed, that I am a valuable and powerful woman in today’s society. And the boobs, dem cartoon torpedoes, if left to their own free will, might flop around willy nilly and be riddled with crazy blue veins but harnessed in a bra and if you squint a bit, they can make you believe I could probably fly and double tittedly fight off all the evil in the world and possibly lower gas prices or at the very least, if not that, bobble around merrily in a hot tub and give you a bit of a chub even just thinking about them. That is some decent power, I’ll use it, somehow, some day. *chews anxiously on a strand of hair*
OH YES! The epiphany I had! I just remembered. Not really an epiphany but a stolen idea from my daughter’s Facebook page. She’s 21 and a feminist. If you are worried by the state of the future based on what the hashtaggery of duckface selfie cuture, do not fret, there is a whole new generation of young women strutting their way into the world questioning everything, including beauty ideals and gender roles, taking back the slut shaming, et cetera. My body, my rules, is their mantra. And by the way, The Book of Rules and all that shit that spouts out of Steve Harvey’s mouth about how women have to act like lady from the golden age of girdles and put men in a holding pattern of blue ball limbo for a set period of time, is a crockful of bukkake. A man who is waiting 3 months to pet your precious pussy is getting it somewhere else and you congratulations, fool, you have just trained him pee outside. Metaphorically-ish.
Aaaanyway, Evangeline posted a video…okay, it’s a TedTalks, I KNOW, but it’s only 12 minutes and it’s very inspiring, of Erika Lust, a Swedish woman who made a porn movie from a woman’s point of view that doesn’t depict women as inflatable Barbie dolls, objectified only for men’s pleasure. Why not make some badass porn films with some hot plots that appeal to women? I know for menfolk, the plots are superfluous but whatever, I myself like a warmup. Even my sex fantasies have to have a prelude that’s so drawn out, I get slightly bored and antsy, here is a typical one: “Let’s go for a hot chocolate at that place in the Distillery but first I have to pick up a package at Purolator, you wanna wait in the car? It’s probably that Thing I ordered off Amazon.” And then all this activity must go down before we drive to Cherry Beach and bone in the tall grass. Seriously.
So yeah, women-powered porn. Plots. Veins and stretch marks. 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Hozier soundtrack. BBC. Tongue game. THIS IS COULD BE MY CALLING! Let’s do this!